


Vertigo

by NeverAndAlways



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Childbirth, Family Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Roach (The Witcher), Mpreg, My First Work in This Fandom, Pregnant Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAndAlways/pseuds/NeverAndAlways
Summary: 🔥 Note: this fic is an AU, similar to the omegaverse but without the pack dynamics.https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941959
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 355





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 🔥 Note: this fic is an AU, similar to the omegaverse but without the pack dynamics.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941959

It's raining. Of course it's fucking raining. As if the situation wasn't dramatic enough. Roach walks with her head held high and her ears pricked up, as though she can sense her rider's nerves. Maybe she can. There's a bitten-off groan from the saddle and Jaskier, walking just ahead, looks over his shoulder. A little stream of water runs off the front of his hood.

"You alright back there?"

"Fine. Stop asking."

He sounds out of breath, but his voice is even. And Jaskier knows better than to pry. "The map says it's only a couple more kilometers. D'you think you'll be okay 'till then?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

If he hears that word one more time..."You're in labor, Geralt, you don't have to be 'fine'." it comes out softer and more gentle than intended, but it seems to hit its mark anyway. Geralt just makes a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, and says nothing more. So, on they go.

* * *

Getting a room at the inn was easy enough. Strangely, people don't tend to argue when there's a Witcher standing in your shadow. Getting said Witcher up the stairs, to their room, and into a bath is a bit more difficult, though. Geralt is about as maneuverable as a dead bear when he doesn't want to be moved, and that's on a good day. And the pains are coming steadily now, in ever-decreasing intervals that make It difficult to stand and even harder to walk. But Jaskier is something of an expert on grumpy, immovable Witchers, so he gets him settled.

And then they wait.

Geralt is quiet. He always is, of course, but this is different. It's a focused quiet. Quiet like he's overwhelmed. And there's not much Jaskier can do; he's seen Geralt after enough battles to know that when he's hurting, he barely tolerates any kind of touch, even from his bard. Which is why he's sticking to the sidelines. Just sitting by the bath and watching while his partner sleeps fitfully between pains and rain pounds on the roof. And all this because of Yennefer, he thinks.

 _Don't get involved with her, Geralt. She's bad news, Geralt._ He warned him. He did. And of course Geralt did it anyway. And of course he ended up with a problem, because that's just the kind of luck he has. Yennefer wanted nothing to do with it; she had more important things to do than tend to a pregnant Witcher. So they decided the child was Jaskier's, if anyone asked. Geralt wasn't opposed to the idea of having a baby, after all, neither of them were, even though the circumstances were less than ideal. They decided as partners that they would go through with it, and they would give the child the best life a Witcher and a bard can provide.

He _is_ excited to meet the little one; they both are. Just have to get through the hard part first.

The Witcher stirs. Lifts his head from the side of the bath. Jaskier sits up a little straighter.

"Hello," he says softly. Geralt grunts.

"What time is it."

"Not quite dawn." the bard reaches out on instinct and brushes a lock of hair out of his partner's face. "How do you feel?"

"Strange. Heavy." he sits back, braces his arms on the edge, and hauls himself up with a groan. Jaskier rises with him, hands held out protectively.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

"To walk around. I don't want to sleep anymore."

"Are you sure? You should rest, you know, save your strength for later --"

Geralt gives him a _look._ Jaskier holds his hands up, placating, and leaves it at that. But he does hover a bit when Geralt goes to climb out of the bath.

* * *

The baby is low. He can tell by the way Geralt moves, slow and awkward and clearly uncomfortable. Won't be long now, or at least he hopes. He shuffles to a stop by the bed, and Jaskier settles his hands on his belly. He knows the Witcher has felt so strange about carrying, how it's softened all his hard edges and made him vulnerable. The muscles harden under his palm with the start of a new pain; Geralt groans at the back of his throat.

"Easy," Jaskier soothes. "You're doing beautifully, Geralt." he rubs gentle circles into the muscle until the pain has run its course, then he looks up at his partner. "How do you feel? Need anything?"

"Peace and quiet," Geralt croaks. There's a joke in there somewhere. Jaskier smirks.

"That's a tall order. I'll see what I can do." the Witcher doesn't laugh, but a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. Jaskier leans up to kiss it. "But seriously. You're alright?"

"I'm alright," he echoes. "As much as I can be."

So Jaskier kisses him one more time for good measure, and they part ways -- Jaskier across the room to the window seat, and Geralt to sit on the bed. He sits with his knees wide apart to make room for the baby; Jaskier can see it kick as he settles.

"Little one's still dancing, I see," he says as he takes his lute from its case. "Poor thing's got no room left." Geralt just grunts in response.

The room is still, save for Jaskier's lute. It stopped raining some time ago. Another pain -- maybe two, maybe three, it's hard to tell with Geralt -- passes in silence. They're starting to take more of a toll on him. His face is flushed, he's breathing hard, and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"I was thinking," says Jaskier, before he can stop himself, "when this is over and you're back on your feet, maybe we should just...go off somewhere. The mountains, the coast. Just to get away for a while. No contracts, no monsters, just you and me and the little one." Geralt grunts vaguely. He's easing himself off the bed and into a low squat beside it. Jaskier shrugs, plays a scale from one end to the other and back, then starts on a song. He's used to one-sided conversations.

_"October winds lament around the castle of Dromore, yet peace is in her lofty halls, my lovely treasure store..."_

"Jaskier."

He stops. "Right, peace and quiet. Sorry."

"Jaskier."

"i did say it was a tall order --"

_"Jaskier."_

That gets him. There's an odd sort of choked quality to Geralt's voice. And when Jaskier looks up, the Witcher is leaned forward against the mattress. He can see his back rise and fall as he breathes, as though he's just been fighting. Jaskier all but throws his lute aside to get to him. Geralt flails a hand out toward him, grabs a handful of his shirt, and yanks.

"Easy, easy. I've got you, love. Kick its arse, this labor thing's got nothing on you."

Jaskier murmurs to him through the worst of it but even after that, it takes almost a full minute for Geralt to come back to himself. He's shaky and feverish. He lets go of Jaskier's shirt, flexes his hand.

"Worst one so far," he sighs. Jaskier makes a little sympathetic noise and brushes the Witcher's hair out of his eyes.

Just have to get through the hard part first.

* * *

It's past midday now. Probably. Jaskier lost track of time ages ago. All his attention is focused on Geralt.

Geralt, who's on the bed now and seems to be at the end of his rope. He's sitting on his heels, knees wide apart, wearing only a nightshirt. The pains are taking all his concentration now. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes are ringed with red. Jaskier is seated behind him, kneading at the Witcher's lower back with the heels of his hands. In the middle of a particularly rough pain, Geralt goes still. Still and very quiet. Jaskier leans forward a little.

"Geralt, don't hold your breath, you'll pass out." more silence. "Geralt, _breathe."_

Finally, the Witcher lets out a breath and draws another gasping one, as though coming up from a deep dive.

"You," he pants, "need to _shut your mouth_ , or I will throw you out the nearest window."

There's genuine irritation in his voice, Jaskier notes, but as long as it's keeping him focused --

"I'd like to see you try," the bard teases gently. Geralt grumbles.

"Don't tempt me." he leans forward, bracing one hand on the bed and cupping his belly with the other. A low growl works its way up from his chest. "Fucking hell, another one --"

Just like that, he's gone again. Jaskier can actually see the pains now; Geralt's entire stomach seems to seize up. He switches to his thumbs instead, pressing them into the small of his back and tracing little circles there. The Witcher goes still again. He bites back his irritation. "Breathe," he sighs "I'd rather not have to pick you up off the floor right now." but then it occurs to him: he is breathing. He can see Geralt's shoulders rise and fall, albeit shallowly. So what is he --?

Geralt lets out a quiet grunt of effort, and adrenaline spikes into Jaskier's gut as he suddenly realizes exactly what's happening.

"Geralt..?" it comes out softer and more hesitant than he meant. Geralt nods once, short and sharp.

"Yes," he says simply. "Help me up, I'm not doing this lying down."

So he does; Jaskier scoots Geralt to the edge of the bed, helps him swing his legs over. Geralt pauses a moment, and Jaskier glances between his legs. Already there's a sliver of silvery-white hair working its way free; an involuntary noise of surprise escapes him. The Witcher's eyes snap open, black almost swallowing up the gold.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Hair," Jaskier blurts out. Geralt frowns, bemused. "I mean -- I can see hair, its head is --" he gives himself a mental shake. "C'mon, let's get you on your feet."

\---

The window is shuttered, but as Geralt labors on, sunlight begins to peek through the slats, adding to the glow of the candles and illuminating the scene. Geralt has gone from standing to a deep squat, and Jaskier is sitting on the bed in front of him, holding his hands. The Witcher growls and rumbles and moans into the pains. Now and then he dips a hand between his legs. Progress is steady. But Geralt is impatient.

"Perfect, that's it. Well done, Geralt." Jaskier gives his hands a gentle squeeze. The Witcher snarls at him. When he gathers himself again, pushing until the end of the pain, it's with a rumble that Jaskier swears he can feel in the bed. Then, finally, he relaxes. "Alright?" Jaskier asks. Geralt doesn't answer. He's about to say something more, try to get his attention, when a sound startles them both -- a knock on the door. Jaskier cranes over his shoulder. "Ah -- no thank you! Do not disturb!" he turns back to Geralt, who's peering at the door, ready to tell him to ignore it, when it comes again. It's more insistent this time. Jaskier looks at Geralt. Looks at the door.

"Go," Geralt croaks. "I'm fine."

After a moment's hesitation, he does. He opens the door just a crack and peeks his head out, and is met with a scruffy, worried-looking older man. They look each other up and down.

"Hello," Jaskier volunteers.

"Hello," he echoes. "I, ah...I'm afraid some of your neighbors have entered a noise complaint. Said it sounded as though someone was deathly ill."

"Ah. Yes. That would be my, ah..." think fast, Jaskier. "my cousin. He's just a bit under the weather, you know how it is this time of year, with the...trees." now his mouth has run off without his brain. And the old man looks skeptical. There's an urgent-sounding moan from the room behind him, and it's all he can do not to turn tail and run back to it. He closes the door a little, so the man can't see past him. "He'll be fine, he's just a baby about it." hm. Poor choice of words, perhaps --

 _"Jaskier. Need you."_ it sounds pained, and Jaskier's heart clenches.

"Are you sure --" the man tries to peer around his shoulder.

_"Jaskier, now!"_

That does it. Jaskier steps back from the door and begins to close it, forcing the man back. "No thank you, we're fine, he'll be fine, goodbye!" the words come out all in a rush, and he slams (and locks) the door before the man can respond. Then he turns on his heel and runs back to the bed.

Geralt is panting harshly, one hand between his legs and the other holding a fistful of the sheets. "It's coming," he croaks. And no sooner has Jaskier crouched down beside him, than Geralt lets out a wrenching groan as the baby's head slips into his hand. Jaskier laughs with astonishment.

"So it is! Hello, little one. In a hurry all of a sudden, aren't you?" he looks up at Geralt; Geralt looks back. There's something in his eyes that Jaskier's never really seen before, and he's not sure he has a name for it. "Almost there, love. Just a little more to the top of the hill."

The Witcher's already gathering himself again, scooting around so he can lean his back up against the bed. He keeps his hand between his legs as he bears down, supporting the baby's head. Jaskier can see it inch forward and for a moment his heart leaps, _this is it --_ but Geralt stops as quickly as he'd started.

"'s got your hair, Geralt. Silver. And lots of it. No wonder you had heartburn."

Geralt lets out a heavy breath. Rolls his hips a little, and grimaces. Then he tries again. The baby slowly turns, dragging a moan out of him. Jaskier, not wanting to take his eyes off the Witcher, blindly feels around on the floor for the pile of towels they'd stolen from the inn's laundry. Another push, louder now, and a shoulder emerges.

"Jaskier --" his voice is thin and strained. Without thinking, the bard reaches out and cups the baby's head in his hand. His heart does another flip.

"Go on," he says, breathless, "there's no -- thing. Cord, there's no cord, you can push. One more, then I'll stop pestering you."

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, Geralt cants his hips down toward the floor and bears down hard. Another shoulder comes, then the Witcher lets go of the bed and reaches down. And with both their hands guiding it, their baby slips into the world. Geralt doesn't cry, he never does, but his eyes are wide and full of emotion as he lifts it to his chest.

"A girl," he rasps. He sounds stunned.

"A girl," Jaskier echoes, more of a breath than a word. "A daughter. Oh --" he grabs a towel and gently wipes her clean, murmuring to her as he goes. "Hello, sweetheart. Little flower. Look at you, you look like your papa, don't you..."

Geralt sits down, slow and stilted, and adjusts the baby in his arms. Startled, she flings her little arms out over her head. He takes one of her hands between his thumb and forefinger and just holds it gently. "Easy, little one. I won't drop you." Jaskier moves in with the towel to continue wiping her off, and she kicks her legs out as well, completely uncoordinated but looking for all the world like she's trying to fight him off. Her face scrunches up, she lets out a wet cough and a gurgle, then she takes her first deep breath and yowls. Geralt huffs out a laugh. "I think you made her angry."

"I'm sorry, little one, I'll leave you alone." Jaskier drops the towel on the floor and instead scoots in close to Geralt and the baby. For a long minute, they both just stare, riding the wave of adrenaline. Geralt turns and drops a kiss on the top of Jaskier's head. "Look what you did," Jaskier sighs. "You had a _baby,_ Geralt."

"People have been having babies for thousands of years."

"Yes, but none of them were _you._ Just let me be in awe of you for once without shooting it down, please."

The baby is starting to calm to the sound of their voices. She squirms in Geralt's arms and looks around with bright, beady eyes. "She is remarkable, isn't she," he says quietly. Jaskier hums in agreement.

"I hope you realize, I'll be writing a song for her." he ignores Geralt's muffled groan of protest and traces the baby's nose with one finger. He's already jotting down the melody in his head. "My little Rose."

🌹🌹🌹


	2. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few short flashback scenes that have been bugging me, but wouldn't fit in the first chapter.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the sweet comments so far, y'all are too nice to me 💜

_\- 7 months ago -_

Jaskier is awake. It's still dark, but the moon is going down. Looking around, he knows immediately what woke him; Geralt's bedroll is empty, and if he squints into the darkness he can just make out the shape of the Witcher, hunched over by a tree. Just to be sure, he waits a minute until -- yep, there it is -- he hears Geralt heave. Fifth night in a row. Jaskier gets up.

Roach is awake too, twisting her ears and nervously high-stepping. She snorts as he approaches. He lays a hand on her neck. "Hush, it's me," he whispers.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice filters through the trees, rougher than usual.

"Hello." Jaskier absently strokes Roach's mane. "Sick again?"

A pause. "Go back to sleep."

"I will not. Not until I know you're okay."

Sullen silence. So that's how it's going to be. Jaskier walks over to the bedrolls, picks up a water skin, walks back and tosses it to Geralt. Watches his silhouette uncap it and take a drink, then sling the strap over his shoulder.

"So, when are you going to see a doctor about this?" he asks.

"I don't need a doctor."

"You do if you've been throwing up almost nightly for weeks."

"I don't. Need. A doctor."

Jaskier sighs. Stubbornness, thy name is Geralt. "I know, I know, Witchers don't get sick...except you are. And you have. Repeatedly." Roach snuffles at Jaskier's hair. "What if you _are_ really sick? What will you do, hm? What will _I_ do? Roach won't let me ride her, I can't just go to the next town over to ask for help." Geralt walks back toward him, then brushes past and continues on to the fire, where he sits down and stirs the coals with a stick. And pointedly ignores Jaskier. The bard sits down across from him. Watches the coals wake up a little in the night breeze.

"...I'm worried about you, Geralt. Please don't push me away."

The Witcher doesn't look at him, but his demeanor changes. He's listening. So Jaskier continues. "Now I'm just grasping at straws, but you don't think Yennefer had something to do with this? Maybe she put some kind of spell on you -- hex, curse, whatever?"

"No. That's not her way. If she wanted to hurt me, she would have used a blade."

Lovely. Okay then. "I just meant, maybe this has something to do with your encounter with her. I mean, I know the two of you were..." he gestures vaguely "quite a lot. And it's only since then that you've been tired all the time, and you're not drinking at the inns, and you're waking up every night to vomit and --" the penny drops. A wash of cold goes over Jaskier like he's been dunked in the river. The Witcher is still staring down at the coals, poking them half-heartedly. How did he not realize this before now? "Geralt. Look at me." Geralt looks; gold eyes catch the light from the embers. "Geralt, you don't think...you don't think you're...?"

"With child."

"...Are you?"

It hangs in the air. Geralt sighs and looks away again. "I don't know for certain. But I've suspected."

Oh gods. Jaskier puts his head in his hands for a moment. "Okay. Alright. Okay. This is...this is a problem." he looks up at Geralt. "We're passing through Mibryn tomorrow. Can you promise me you'll find a doctor to do a test?"

"I'll try."

"No, _promise._ If you think you are, we need to know for certain. We can decide what to do from there, but we need to know one way or another. Please."

"...Alright." Jaskier opens his mouth to speak again, but the Witcher holds up a hand. "I don't want to talk about it now. I'm going back to sleep; so should you."

The bard watches Geralt climb back into bed and get settled. Then, feeling both excited and strangely defeated, he does the same. But his mind is racing. _Geralt might be pregnant._ This could change everything.

Well, he's wide awake now.

💥💥💥


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt sets a small glass bottle on the nightstand. Inside is what looks like pond water, but it seems to glitter very slightly when it catches the light. He'd found a doctor, as promised, and gotten a test potion, as promised. Came back to the inn, added certain ingredients as instructed. And now they wait. He folds his long legs underneath himself and sits on the bed, side by side with the bard.

"So...how long until we know?" Jaskier tangles his hands together in his lap.

"A few minutes."

"Mm."

An uncomfortable silence descends. They can faintly hear the comings and goings of the town through the window.

"So." says Geralt. "We need to talk about this."

The bard sighs. For once, Geralt takes the initiative. "Yes. We do." he untangles his hands, tangles them up again. "If you are...you know...what are we going to do? I mean, do you...?"

"Say what you mean, Jaskier," Geralt grunts. "Get to the point."

"Do you _want_ to have children?"

The Witcher doesn't speak for a long time. Just stares at a knot in the wall.

"I have thought about it, in the past." he sort of draws himself up, sits up straighter. "but a Witcher's only responsibility is to the hunt."

"That's just a catchphrase, Geralt. What do _you_ want to do?" he sags again. His body language sinks down into confused, anxious. It makes Jaskier's heart hurt. "Whatever you decide, you know I'll support it."

"...and if I say no?"

His heart twists in his chest. That surprises him. "Like I said. I'll support you. There are potions you can get, and...doctors and whatnot." he gestures. Geralt picks at a loose seam on his tunic.

"I do want it," he says softly. "We -- I can go off the map for a while. Stop taking contracts. Until the infant is older; less of a liability. It will still be dangerous, but...I can at least keep it out of harm's way for a while."

Jaskier allows himself a little secret smile. Vulnerability of any kind is something that has to be coaxed out of Geralt, usually. But then a thought occurs to him that kind of sours the moment. He sits back. Geralt notices; shoots him a sidelong look.

"What?"

"Can I ask you something..?"

"You just did."

The bard huffs at him. "I don't know how to say this without it sounding horrible, so forgive me if it comes across that way, but I can't think of another way to put it --"

_"Jaskier."_

"-- are you...are you in love with Yennefer?"

The Witcher turns to look him properly in the eye. He looks...offended? Incredulous?

"No."

"I mean, the two of you were -- quite a bit, and you seem to really, ah, enjoy each other's company, I just thought --"

"Jaskier."

"--and if you are, I understand, I won't get in the way, she is after all the one responsible for this situation --"

_"Jaskier."_

"...yes?"

"I'm not in love with her." Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding. "She is...very attractive. That's all."

"Oh, and I'm not?" the bard smirks.

"You are." Geralt says it with such conviction that Jaskier is taken aback for a moment. "she is attractive. But I don't want to be with her. I want to be with _you."_

That makes Jaskier smile. Geralt has his own ways of saying 'I love you'. "I was just teasing," he says, and leans over to kiss Geralt's shoulder. "But you're sweet." Geralt grunts in response, and they're quiet again.

"We should still tell her," Geralt says at length, in a meditative sort of way.

"Mm. That'll go over well, I'm sure. 'Hello Yennefer, I'm with child, and guess what, it's yours'."

"Whether or not she likes it, better that she know now than find out on her own. Assuming I _am --"_

"...what does blue mean?"

Geralt looks up. The pond water potion has turned a bright, crystalline blue, and there are faint curls of frost on the bottle's lid. He stares for a moment. Digs a folded-up bit of paper from his pocket, unfolds and skims it. Then he very carefully re-folds it and takes a deep breath.

"Geralt?"

Geralt doesn't answer or look at him, but there's been a change in the atmosphere of the room. He knows what it means, and a prickle of excitement creeps up the back of Jaskier's neck.

"I'm pregnant," Geralt says quietly. Almost like he's telling a secret. Jaskier's already grinning so hard it's making his cheeks hurt. The Witcher stares at the paper in his hands and for a moment, Jaskier thinks he's upset. But then he looks up at the bard, and there's the hint of a smile on his face. And that's all the answer Jaskier needs.

💥💥💥


	4. Chapter 4

It took them two months to track Yennefer down. Geralt -- now with a belly just visible through his clothes -- convinced her to see him by means of several letters back and forth. On the day of his visit he spoke even less than usual, as though he was saving it up for the occasion. It made Jaskier nervous; if she can make even Geralt this quiet, what's she really like?

\---

When Yennefer emerged from her quarters to collect Geralt, Jaskier hung back. Just as well, because she greeted the Witcher with a kiss. A brief, chaste one that Geralt didn't return, but a kiss nonetheless, and enough to make Jaskier want to hit something. Or someone. He studied a nearby wall hanging instead.

...And he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

It's a nice place (of course it is, they always are when she's involved). Very official. Very magic-y. Lots of paintings and tapestries and how much longer are they going to be, anyway? It's been _hours._ Probably. Either way, Jaskier's pretty sure he's studied every inch of this godsdamned hallway. But at least it's going okay. He's only heard raised voices once. Of course, that might just mean she turned him into a frog. Or a rat. He wouldn't put it past her.

Suddenly he hears footsteps approaching the door. Jaskier jumps up from his seat on the rug just as the door is flung open, and out strides Geralt. He gets just a glimpse of Yennefer, staring imperiously out at them, then he runs after the Witcher.

"Geralt -- Geralt, wait up!"

Geralt does little more than glance over his shoulder. Jaskier catches up to him, barely, and falls into stride. Manages to get a look at him; he's straight-faced, but there's a particular set to his jaw. He's angry.

"Geralt? How did it go?" the Witcher waves a dismissive hand. "No, don't just -- talk to me, what happened?"

"Later," Geralt growls. They turn a corner, descend a flight of stairs, enter another hallway. A group of people, just as official and magic-looking as the building itself, take one look at Geralt and part in front of him. Jaskier feels rather small following in his wake.

Finally, they're outside. The pair of them go around the building to the stable; it's empty except for Roach, who perks up her ears at the sight of them. Geralt goes to work putting on her saddle and harness, and still doesn't say a word. Jaskier sits down on a hay bale. He's patient. He knows Geralt will crack eventually.

And he does. He's just done up the throatlatch when he pauses, and his body language changes. He puts his hand on Roach's mane; Jaskier sees it clench into a fist, the relax. Then he turns, walks out of the stall to the wall opposite and leans his back against it. Stands there for a minute with a hand on his belly and a definite tic in his jaw. And just as Jaskier's about to ask if he's alright, he draws his sword and with a snarl, whirls around and sinks the blade into the nearest pillar. Roach takes a few steps back. Jaskier is unphased.

"Feel better now?" he asks mildly. Geralt growls and yanks his sword out of the pillar. A few splinters of wood fall to the ground. "So," Jaskier continues, a little haltingly "are you going to tell me what happened, or do I just assume from that display that it went poorly?"

Geralt stands for a moment like he's not sure what to do. Then he stalks over to the hay bale and sits down next to Jaskier.

"She was..unconcerned."

"How do you mean?"

"Her first question was why I hadn't done away with it. She assumed I'd come to her for an abortion." Geralt sighs. "Said the White Wolf should have more important things to worry about than being a 'mother'."

"That's rude. You'd think she of all people would be above carrier insults."

"Not if it serves her purpose."

Jaskier pulls a straw out of the bale and fidgets with it, shredding it in his fingers. He's starting to wonder what Geralt saw in Yennefer. "So...now what? I'm assuming she doesn't want to be involved."

"No. If she has a child, it will be of someone respectable. She wants nothing to do with the bastard child of a Witcher."

"Well, maybe she should have thought of that before she fell into bed with you."

"You're one to talk."

"Hey, _I_ take precautions. I don't have any accidental children. That I know about, at least...and I haven't done _that_ since you and I started traveling together, anyway."

"Teasing," Geralt grunts. He's down to single words now, he's really annoyed. So Jaskier drops it.

"...I'm sorry, Geralt. I really am." the Witcher shrugs. Aimlessly straightens the hem of his shirt, then rests his hands on his belly. "really, she's the one missing out. You and I are going to go to the mountains, spend a lovely three months _not_ killing monsters, and we'll have our baby and she won't even get to meet --"

"Jaskier. Shut up."

He sputters. "Wh -- could you at least let me finish my sentence before you cut me off like that??"

_"Shh."_

"Look, I know you're angry, but don't dismiss --"

Suddenly Geralt's hand darts out, grabs Jaskier's, and plants it squarely on his belly. And before Jaskier has a chance to speak, he feels a flutter under his hand. All the air is knocked from his lungs. Geralt smirks.

"You felt it that time?"

"Yes," Jaskier breathes. He's lightheaded. There's another one, a tiny kick. He gently taps in response and feels it again. "Hello in there," he whispers. Then to Geralt, "do you think it can hear us?"

"Possibly. It moves more when you're talking, so it can at least hear enough to be annoyed."

Jaskier makes a little _tsk_ sound. But he's too happy to really be irritated by the jab, especially when Geralt leans down to drop a kiss on the top of his head. He sits up straighter, chases him down for a proper kiss. Just a peck on the lips, but he smiles into it. "You know," he murmurs, "it's been a while since I wrote a ballad...this seems like the perfect occasion."

"Mm. Also the perfect occasion to feed your lute to the next monster we come across."

Jaskier laughs. The ice has been broken.

Yennefer doesn't know what she's missing.

✨✨✨


	5. Chapter 5

_Geralt groans. He's awake, and he feels awful. Dizzy and feverish. Hears Jaskier say his name, so he opens his eyes --_

_He's in a bed. A large, stately one that he recognizes as Yennefer's from the last time they were together. He's on his back, legs tented; his belly feels like a mountain. Looking down, he realizes with a jolt that Yennefer is there, kneeling on the bed between his feet, and suddenly he knows exactly what's happening. But there's no pain, just a sense of urgency --_

_"C'mon, Geralt, push."_

_Jaskier's voice again, where the hell is he? Geralt does as he's told; still no pain, but he can hear Yennefer giving vague encouragement. This isn't how he thought this would happen._

_"Almost there, love."_

_He's not sure how long it goes on. But suddenly Geralt feels strangely empty, Yennefer is exclaiming, and he can hear a baby -- his baby -- wailing. Then there's a weight on his chest; he looks down...into the vacant eyes of a huge bullfrog. Which is still wailing. He blinks, hard, and now it's a cat. His heart is pounding. The cat blurs, shifts, and becomes a striga. It hisses. Geralt looks around wildly. This isn't right, this can't be his --_

_Yennefer sidles into view, crouches down by the bed. Geralt snarls at her. "What did you do to my child?"_

_She just smiles. "Isn't it beautiful?" she reaches out and draws a finger along the striga's head. Then she looks up at him. Still smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You should have gotten rid of it while you had the chance," she says mildly. "What will you do now, Witcher?"_

_A sick feeling sinks into Geralt's chest. He screws his eyes shut --_

\-- then opens them to see a dark forest. Campfire with glowing coals. Roach dozing nearby. Jaskier sleeping soundly next to him. Geralt sighs. Just a dream, thank the gods. His heart is hammering.

He reaches down under his blanket and lays a hand on his belly. Still feels like a mountain; can't be more than a few weeks left, now. But it's still there. And the little one's still safe inside. It shifts lazily under his hand, as though he woke it up. He idly gives it a pat -- _it's just me, go back to sleep --_ then draws his hand out of the blanket again, and instead drapes his arm over Jaskier. The bard, always a light sleeper, is awake in seconds. He cranes over his shoulder.

"Geralt? Wha's wrong?" he slurs.

"Nothing," says Geralt. "Sorry to wake you."

The bard makes a soft, sleepy noise and nestles back into his pillow. Lifts his arm, tucks Geralt's underneath it, laces their fingers together, and crashes back into sleep. Warmth blooms in Geralt's chest. He takes a deep breath, letting that replace the sick feeling from the dream. Doesn't feel like sleeping any more, not after that. But Jaskier's presence is comforting. And Yennefer can't reach him here.

He'll be alright.

🐸🐸🐸


	6. Chapter 6

In the middle of a clearing in the forest, sits Jaskier and Geralt (well, Jaskier's sitting; Geralt is pacing because his back hurts and if he sits down he'll have to stand up again and that's more of a hassle than he wants to deal with).

Jaskier has a map spread out in front of him, weighed down with a rock on each corner. He leans in, taps with his finger.

"If we just follow the river, it's a pretty direct route. Shouldn't take more than...another few days at the most." he looks up. "Geralt?"

The Witcher is standing next to Roach, holding her reins in one hand and leaning hard on the saddle. Roach has her head craned over to snuffle at him, ears pricked forward in concern.

"Geralt..? You okay?"

"Follow the river. Few more days to Kaer Morhen. I heard you." Geralt's voice is slightly strained.

"I wasn't asking if you heard me, I asked if you're okay." Jaskier gets to his feet and pads over to him. Geralt has let go of the saddle and is stroking Roach's nose. He says nothing. "Geralt..?"

"I'm alright."

"Really? 'Cause you don't sound like it." a pause. Jaskier shifts around so he can look Geralt in the eye. "Hey. Talk to me. What's going on?"

Geralt looks at him for a moment. Then he steps away from Roach and over to the map, and lowers himself carefully to the ground. His belly is lower now, and less round than it's been, but it's clear just from looking at him that the baby could arrive any day now. He splays a hand over his belly as Jaskier sits down across from him.

"There's a small town on the banks of the river, forty kilometers southeast. Need to reach it by nightfall."

"We're not making camp here?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd rather give birth at an inn than in the middle of a forest."

Full stop. Jaskier stares at Geralt. He's pretty sure he forgets to breathe for a moment.

"...I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, but -- what do you mean, _give birth,_ are you -- are you in labor?"

"Yes," Geralt sighs, as though it should have been obvious. Anxiety spikes into Jaskier's gut even as his brain whirls away into logistics and what-ifs and _okay, he must not be that far into it if he's still talking and whatnot, if we pack up now we should be able to reach the town before sunset, but what if we don't make it in time, gods above he's actually going to have the baby --_

He's snapped out of it when Geralt leans back on his hands and makes a little noise of discomfort. It's quiet, no more than a moan at the back of his throat, but it gets Jaskier's attention. He watches as the Witcher bows his head and shuts his eyes, almost like he's praying. There's a tic in his jaw; usually the only sign that Geralt's in pain. Jaskier wants so badly to just bundle him up in his arms, even though Geralt's not the type to allow himself to be held and anyway he's too tall --

Geralt lets out a heavy breath, seems to come back to himself. Jaskier swallows past the lump in his throat.

"How, ah...how long have you been..?"

"Since late this morning. It's not too bad yet."

The bard sighs. "Alright..." he drags a hand over his face "alright. Let's pack up, and we can get going and just...hope we make it in time." he gets to his feet, brushes some pine needles off his trousers and tries very hard to stay calm. "...I'm sorry we didn't make it to Kaer Morhen," he adds, quietly.

Geralt twitches his shirt farther down over his belly, pushes some wayward hair out of his eyes.

"So am I."

* * *

They get packed up in record time, despite Geralt's water breaking in the middle of it. He's quiet and stoic for most of the trip, perched uncomfortably in the saddle. Clearly (to Jaskier, at least) in pain, but using every bit of his Witcher training to keep it under wraps. They do manage to reach the town before dark, at least. Find a stable for Roach and an inn for themselves, and...well, you know how this part goes.

Looking back on it, Geralt doesn't remember much of his labor. It's sense memories, mostly. He remembers feeling heavy and awkward, and he remembers the pains. The dimly-lit room. Warm bath. Rough blankets. And Jaskier. The bard was there at every turn, annoying the hell out of him as only Jaskier can. And supporting him through all of it.

...and then his daughter. Rosalia. The most amazing thing he's ever seen. Certainly the proudest he's ever done. She has his hair, like Jaskier said; little tufts of grayish-white that stick up every which way. Her eyes are a pale blue, but he almost hopes they'll turn yellow with age like his. He can see bits of Yennefer in her -- her nose, her jaw -- but that doesn't matter. Rose is his daughter. His and Jaskier's. And there's not a Witch or a monster or anything else in the world that can ever change that.

🌹🌹🌹


	7. Chapter 7

"Rose!"

Jaskier wades through a clump of ivy, stopping to kick himself free of a persistent vine. No kid in sight. Of course not.

"Rosie??"

_Sure, I can give Roach her nosebag. Of course Rose will be fine, she's picking up kindling, she knows not to go far...great plan, Jaskier. Brilliant. Misplaced your own daughter._

"Rosalia! Where in blazes --"

Jaskier scans the area. She's not in a tree, she can't climb; there are no bushes to hide in; he can see the river just downhill, but --

Oh gods. The river. What if she fell in? He picks up the pace, still calling out. _Okay, don't panic, she's probably fine. Kids can float, right?_

\- _plunk -_

He hesitates. What was that?

\- _plunk -_

Jaskier skids-runs-stumbles down the hill, slick with mud and weeds, half-expecting to see the worst -- and there she is. Flyaway white hair and too-long tunic and pants, ankle-deep in the river, holding a bundle of sticks under one arm and happily flinging rocks into the water. He breathes a sigh of relief.

_"There_ you are."

Rose turns at the sound of his voice. "Hi, da."

"Hi, yourself." he takes her hand before she can pick up another rock to throw, and gently (but quickly) leads her away from the water. "C'mon, let's get away from the river."

"Why?"

Think fast, Jaskier. "That's where Jenny Green-Teeth lives, remember? Like papa told you."

"'m not scared of her."

"Of course not, but we don't want her to eat you up. And anyway, it's getting dark soon. Papa's starting a fire, and he needs the kindling you found."

Rose and Jaskier make their way through the forest and back to camp. Rose babbles happily as they go, telling Jaskier all about the things she's seen on their journey. Roach lifts her head as they approach, still placidly munching from her nosebag. Geralt is kneeling on the ground, building a campfire; his daughter marches up and proudly presents her armful of kindling to him.

"Thank you." he quirks a small smile as she hands it over, then turns away to start adding it to the fire. Then a double-take. "...your shoes are wet, what were you doing?"

"Throwing rocks at Jenny Green-Teeth," Rose says nonchalantly, already wandering away. Geralt frowns and looks at Jaskier. The bard shrugs. He looks back to his daughter.

"Did you get her?"

"Uh-huh."

Geralt quirks another smile. Amused and unmistakably proud. He turns back to the fire. "Well done."

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the story, please leave a comment -- I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
